Along Came Merrie
A Totally Bound Publication
Along Came Merrie
ISBN #
978-1-78430-342-6
©Copyright Beth D. Carter 2014
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright December 2014
Edited by Faith Bicknell-Brown
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing,
Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Totally Burning
and a
Sexometer
of
2.
Red Wolves Motorcycle Club
ALONG CAME MERRIE
Beth D. Carter
Book one in the Red Wolves Motorcycle Club series
Merrie stumbles into a bad situation, forcing an outlaw motorcycle gang to ‘deal’ with her, but her escape leads her into the arms of two incredible men who change her life forever.
Merrie Walden is in the wrong place at the wrong time. When she sees something she shouldn’t, she’s attacked by a vicious outlaw biker bent on shutting her up—permanently. She escapes him by jumping out of a moving car. Luckily, horse rancher Braden McClintock finds her and takes her for medical attention to his adopted brother, Leo Cloud Dancer.
As she heals in the men’s home, Merrie realizes that she’s falling for both men. Braden is taciturn, while Leo is outgoing—both reaching a deep-seated need in Merrie that she never knew she had.
However, the outlaw biker has discovered her hideout and even if she doesn’t know what she witnessed, he sure as hell does—and he wants her silenced. Will Merrie have a chance to have a happily ever after with Braden and Leo?
Dedication
There are many people I have to acknowledge and thank, because no writer is an island. Sure, we think up the words and the plot then bring it all together, but I couldn’t do half of that without some amazing people. This book has gone through a journey and the first person I must start with is my BFF, Lark. She’s my go-to gal to let me know if something sucks, and thankfully, she told me this one didn’t.
Also to Ashlynn Monroe, who is not only an amazing author but an awesome cheerleader. I’m very lucky to call you a friend. Thank you!
A HUGE thank you to Shannon Vasquez, who took the time to read all four Red Wolves novels to let me know if they all made sense. Shannon, you will never know how much that meant to me.
To C.R. Moss, who taught me a lot on editing techniques…now if only I had a tenth of her talent.
And finally, my deepest appreciation to Totally Bound for saying yes. Faith, you have infinite amounts of patience…you rock.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Band Aid: Johnson & Johnson
Wal-Mart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.
Bungee cords: The Original Bungee Company
Leatherman: Leatherman Tool Group, Inc.
Prologue
Gray Dog eyed the yuppie man, who stepped gingerly into his domain—neatly trimmed hair, boring tie. The expensive cologne that cut through the stench of cigarettes and stale beer belied the cheap suit. Gray Dog might prefer leather and chains, but he knew an off-the-rack suit when he saw one.
He had to give the guy credit. Walking into a biker bar took a lot of guts. The Demon Devils had a reputation—and it wasn’t a good one. As he watched the man walk the gauntlet between bikers, Gray Dog grabbed a beer from the cooler and popped the top.
“Have a seat,” he said. Most of the time, a prospect tended the bar, but when his arthritis wasn’t acting up, he liked to play bartender. He held up the bottle. “Beer?”
“No, thank you,” the man said as he sat on a stool.
Gray Dog shrugged and took a long drink. He downed half of it, burped then wiped the moisture off his mustache and beard.
The man took a thick envelope out of his inner suit pocket and laid it down on the countertop. “I’ve scraped up the money to buy a partnership into your organization.”
Gray Dog chuckled. “Organization? I like that. Unfortunately for you, I don’t need a partner.” He tapped the envelope. “This simply buys you into my distribution.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “I’ll be the one providing you the girls.”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Gray Dog said, his words cold and precise. “Your ability to get us
merchandise
would be valuable, but I don’t need you. I have the perfect place to get all the girls I need.”
“Us?”
Gray Dog waved his hand. “You’ll learn, bit by bit.”
The man pursed his lips. “All right. Just so that we’re clear—any girl I find and you sell, I get a percentage. Correct?”
“There’s a little more to it than that, of course. The girls have to be loners—no family, no friends. No one to come looking. They can’t see your face. They must be sedated until they reach their destination—and the Master has final approval.”
“The Master?”
Gray Dog shrugged. “Just don’t call him narcissistic to his face.”
“Whatever. I simply want the money. I don’t really care what you call one other.”
Tilting the half-full bottle in salute, Gray Dog replied, “Then we have an agreement. You toe the line then everything is kosher. You fuck up one time, I’ll kill you myself. Clear?”
Gray Dog held out his hand. The man’s gaze flicked down at it. Gray Dog sensed the man thinking that he may have made a deal with Satan incarnate.
“Crystal,” the man said and accepted the handshake.
Chapter One
Merrie eased up on the gas when she finally accepted the truth. She was lost. Miles from nowhere, she looked down at her gas tank light flickering dangerously low. She dug around on the passenger seat until she found her phone then illuminated it to check her bars.
Of course. Dead.
Story of her life—dead end jobs, dead end future. She’d been taking care of herself since before she should’ve and the only job she’d been able to get at age fifteen was working on a dairy farm. It was nice but it didn’t pay all that much, and she’d gotten tired of her ass being grabbed each time she came by with the coffee carafe. The idea of moving to Cheyenne had sounded good at the time but now—lost in the middle of Wyoming—somehow it didn’t seem all that smart. Why was it that none of the roads had marker signs?
She’d gotten turned around at that last pit stop—that’s what had happened. Too many roads branched out for the truckers and she’d become confused about which road she’d been on. She was always doing stupid things like that. How hard was it to follow a road?
Apparently, very hard.
It only added to the melancholy lingering in her soul. She had wanted to start over, begin a new chapter in her life, so she’d donated most of her stuff to charity, keeping only the items that were important. It had depressed the hell out of her when she’d discovered all her worldly possessions had fitted in her trunk. It wasn’t as if she’d had a happy childhood full of memorabilia and crap. Hell, she’d barely graduated high school.
A glow in the distant sky lifted her spirits. A glow meant people, civilization. Hopefully it also meant a gas station or maybe someone who had information on how far the next one was—and food would be a plus. She hadn’t eaten since the truck stop a few hours ago.
She pressed harder on the gas pedal. The quicker she reached the lights, the quicker she’d get back on the right track. Merrie kept her fingers crossed that she wasn’t too far from her destination. Who knew driving could be so exhausting?
Her focus stayed on the lights and, as she grew closer, the shape of a large barn converted into a bar drew closer. Dozens of motorcycles surrounded it, big silver and black monstrosities that pushed a slither of unease down her spine. The only bikers she’d really heard of were the made up ones on television and they were dangerous bad asses. Plus, being a woman had her naturally distrustful of bars. There were too many horror stories where a girl went into a bar never to be seen again, and this one held bikers. She slowed upon noticing an old public telephone booth toward the back of the building. Never mind that it belonged in a museum—relief poured through her. She wouldn’t have to go inside to ask for directions. She could simply call the police to help her.
Merrie flicked off her headlights as she pulled into the parking lot then headed around back near the telephone booth. She didn’t see anyone, so she turned off her car and opened the door. Getting out, she looked around and took a step toward the call box when she heard a man laugh. She swung around. In the shadows of the building, two men talked and shook hands. They wore leather vests with many patches on them but one of the men had a band of red running along the bottom of his while the other didn’t. The second man faced her, the patch on his vest white with a red devil and two Ds on it.